


Winter's Child

by Witty_Name_Here



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Backstory, Canon Related, Don't Examine This Too Closely, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic, MC is not Dragonborn, Magic-Users, Minor Violence, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Discovery, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, Ulfric Stormcloak is Dragonborn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23686567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witty_Name_Here/pseuds/Witty_Name_Here
Summary: Aricette was a Breton infant found abandoned on the shore of the Sea of Ghosts by Arch-Mage Savos Aren. He takes her in, raising her as his own and she learns to hone her magical gifts. On her 20th birthday, she is summoned to Windhelm to travel with Ulfric Stormcloak as his restoration mage, but they are captured and marched to Helgen for execution. Chaos ensues, and they escape together, making their way back to Windhelm and learning a few things about themselves and each other along the way.*on hiatus*
Relationships: Female Breton Character & Kaidan (Elder Scrolls), Female Breton Character & Savos Aren, Female Breton Character(s)/Ulfric Stormcloak
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

Arch-Mage Savos Aren stalked across the college courtyard, toward the bridge leading to Winterhold. He pulled his cloak tighter around him to keep the wind out. It was a bright, cloudless day, but the wind coming off the Sea of Ghosts was frigid and warned of a coming snowstorm. The gates slammed behind him as he picked his way down to the city, trying not to slip on the patches of ice and fall to his death. 

“Damn Ancano,” he muttered. It was the fourth time that day the Thalmor advisor had outright insulted someone. He tolerated the elf’s snide remarks and condescending tone toward the staff and students, but he drew the line at a student being accused of being a Stormcloak spy. 

When Savos caught Ancano interrogating a Nord student earlier that day about Talos worship and hurling accusations at the boy, his blood boiled and he could not resist pointing out that most Stormcloaks were Nords that distrusted magic, and Ancano was an idiot if he thought Ulfric Stormcloak gave a damn about infiltrating the College. What did he have to gain? 

Savos smiled to himself, remembering Ancano’s face contorting into a pinched look of wrathful indignation. He reached the bottom of the bridge, nodding to Faralda as he passed.

“Arch-Mage,” she said with a slight bow of her head. Savos turned left and followed the trail to the spot on the shore he sometimes went to get perspective. 

He sat down on the sand, the smell of salt and sea filling his nose. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and counting to five, released it. His eyes followed the ships as they navigated the ice, carrying goods bound from Solitude to Dawnstar or Windhelm. There were ominous clouds forming on the horizon, and Savos wondered if it was a sign of things to come. He leaned back, propping himself on his elbows, and tilted his face toward the sky, eyes closed, listening to the pounding of the waves on the shore. 

A small, strangled cry interrupted his meditation. Savos sat straight up, his ears straining to hear over the wind and crashing waves and he looked around, unable to tell what direction the sound came from. Once he had resumed his meditative position, he heard it again; this time he was sure of it. He stood up, brushing the sand from his cloak and robes. The sound had come from the East and he readied his fireball spell as he walked along the shore, eyes alert. 

Reaching the end of the shoreline he’d explored in the past, Savos looked around and wondered if he should go further. The wind was blowing harder now, and the clouds were rolling in, bringing the promise of a blizzard. He turned to go back the way he came, when he heard the stifled cry again, louder this time, and his feet sank into the wet sand as he walked toward the sound. There, in a small stone alcove cut into the cliff, was an oval flower basket filled with fox pelts. Flames licked at the basket, but it wasn’t burning. 

Curiosity piqued, Savos extinguished the flames and lifted the corner of the wet fox pelts. A baby girl, only about three months old, lay squirming in the basket. A tiny wisp of a thing, half-frozen; her skin was a slight tinge of blue and she had a dusting of Auburn curls and blue eyes the color of the sea. He ran his fingers along the embroidered linen blanket swaddling her, and he saw a name stitched into the corner. Aricette Ashcroft. Savos looked around, searching for anyone else on the shore, but saw no one. Who had left her here, and why? 

The child cried again, and Savos picked up the child, pulling her close to his chest and draping the fur mantle of his robes over her. It didn’t matter to him who had left the child or why a storm was coming and he couldn’t leave the child out here alone. He pulled his cloak tight across the both of them and returned to Winterhold. Faralda gave him an inquisitive look as he passed, but he ignored her. 

The storm had reached the shore, and it was sleeting now, blowing about him, stinging his exposed skin. Savos blasted the stone with flames to rid the bridge of the accumulating ice and made a mental note to research and create a magical ice and snow remover for the bridge. The gates creaked as Savos pushed them open, a high-pitched metallic sound that set his teeth on edge. Fat snowflakes fell, coating his hair and shoulders as he crossed the courtyard and entered the college. 

Savos stood in the entryway, shaking off the snow and trying to decide what to do when Mirabelle entered from the Arcaneum. He nodded at her, and she looked at him, her eyes growing wide when the tiny bundle beneath his cloak let out a cry. 

“Wha--,” Mirabelle started.

“Not here,” Savos hissed, his eyes darting around for any sign of Ancano. “My quarters, now.”

Mirabelle did as he instructed and together they climbed the steps to the Arch-Mage’s living quarters. Once they were inside, Mirabelle bolted the door behind them. Savos unclasped his cloak, letting it fall from his shoulders into a pile on the floor behind him, as he unwrapped the tiny bundle from the mantle of his robes. Holding the child close to him, he sat down on a chair near the fireplace, trying to drive the cold out of them both. 

“Where did you find that?” Mirabelle hissed, her eyes narrowing at the bundle in his arms. 

“ _ It _ is a child, Mirabelle, a living creature. Not an object,” Savos scolded.

“Fine, where did you find it?” she said.

“She was in a flower basket, tucked into an alcove near the base of the cliff. I’d gone to the shore to meditate and heard her cry,” he replied, his eyes not leaving the baby’s face.

“Who does she belong to?” Mirabelle asked as Savos gazed up at her like she had just told him the sky was blue. 

“I don’t know, and there wasn’t anyone else out there to ask,” he snapped.

“You can’t keep her here. This is a college, not an orphanage,” Mirabelle snapped back, her brows knitting into a frown. 

“She had cast a flame cloak on the basket, trying to keep herself warm when I found her. She’s already powerful. I can’t send her to Honorhall, Mirabelle. If I do, there will be no one to teach her how to control her magic and someone will get hurt, even killed. When that happens, they will execute her. No, she’ll stay here and I’ll teach her how to control her magic myself,” he said, his voice firm.

“Have you lost your mind?! You cannot just ignore your duties as Arch-Mage to raise a child,” Mirabelle shrieked.

“I said no such thing. And no, I haven’t lost my mind. I’m trying to protect an innocent child from the wrath of small-minded Nords,” he growled, as his red eyes flashed. He breathed, trying to get his temper back under control before speaking again.

“What are you going to tell Ancano? He will demand to know why the child is not being sent away,” Mirabelle demanded. Savos closed his eyes, his annoyance resurging at the Altmer’s name. 

“I will tell him the same thing I’ve told you. It’s for her protection, and it will give the Nords one less reason to hate mages,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now, leave us, and close the door behind you.” Mirabelle nodded, scowling, and turning on her heel, stomped from the Arch-Mage’s quarters.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Five Years Later - Aricette age 5_ **

Aricette blew her breath out in a frosty stream, sending the ringlets of her auburn hair flying. She sat on the frozen walkway in the college courtyard, leaning against the stone statue. Pulling her knees to her chest, she crossed her arms over her knees and laid her head down. Tears pricked her eyes as she tried not to cry.

“What’s the matter, Red?” Creelis said, his brows knitting in concern. He was a Breton, like her, a boy of sixteen winters with a scruff of blond hair and eyes that reminded Aricette of honey. He’d come to the college the year before, sent by his wealthy parents in High Rock who had made a generous donation to the College. Aricette lifted her gaze up at him and swiped stray tears from her cheeks, her lower lip puckered in a pout. 

“I can’t do it,” she whined, dropping her head back onto her arms, her auburn ringlets falling around her like a curtain. 

“Can’t do what?” Creelis asked, smiling at her as Aricette huffed in frustration.

“Ata wanted me to practice my Alteration magic, but I can’t do it,” she sniffled as Creelis chuckled at her. 

“Stupid mage light,” she muttered from behind her hair curtain. 

“I see,” Creelis said. “Maybe I can help?”

Aricette shifted to sit cross-legged on the walkway. Her backside was going numb, but she didn’t care. If Creelis could help her, maybe she could show Ata she could do it and please him. A hopeful look brightened her features as she looked at him and nodded. He reached out a hand to her, and she took it as he pulled her to her feet. 

“Okay, first things first, clear your mind of any doubt. If you don’t think you can do it, then you already can’t,” he explained, kneeling down to her eye level and taking both her small hands in his, cupping them together, one on top of the other. 

“Now, concentrate on your magicka, can you feel it?” he asked, and she nodded, her curls bouncing with the movement. 

“Think about holding bright, white light in your palms,” he said, trying not to laugh as Aricette squeezed her eyes shut, trying to do as he instructed. She felt a tingle in the palms of her hands and she opened one eye to see light streaming out from between her fingers. Creelis let go of her hands, and she unfolded them, a single magelight floating just above her palms. 

“I did it, I did it,” she squeaked, jumping with excitement, her curls bobbing and Creelis smiled at her. 

“Yes, you did. Now, try it again, without me this time,” he said, taking his hands off hers. She took a deep breath to calm herself, closed her eyes and repeated the steps as Creelis had instructed. She felt the tingle in her palms again and opened her eyes. It was a tiny magelight, but it didn’t matter to her, she had done it all by herself! Creelis ruffled her curls as she looked up at him.

“Thank you! Thank you! I will go show Ata I can do it now!” she beamed at him and ran inside the college. He stood in the courtyard, watching her run off to find Savos. Creelis had thought it strange when he first came to the college that the Arch-Mage had a child, and a Breton one at that. There were rumors that Savos had fathered the child with Mirabelle, but Creelis figured out early that they could not be true because if Mirabelle was the girl’s mother, he was the son of the Emperor. Creelis had seen Mirabelle look at the girl with disgust, even outright contempt, and he’d often seen Aricette disappear into a dark corner if Mirabelle entered the room. He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. He stared at the statue of Gauldur for a few moments, then retreated to his room to study for his next exam.

Aricette pushed open the heavy doors to the Arch-Mage’s quarters she shared with Savos. Climbing the stairs as fast as she could, her excitement at showing her Ata she had done what he’d wanted dying as she reached the top of the stairs. She heard angry voices and recognized them at once as her Ata and Mirabelle. She hid in the shadows of the stairwell and listened. Aricette knew that eavesdropping was wrong, but her curiosity got the better of her. 

“I’ll say it again, Savos. The girl has to go. It’s not right to have a small child running around the college. It makes you look weak,” Mirabelle said, scowling. She’d heard the rumors that the students spread about her being Aricette’s mother, and they infuriated her and left her feeling like her authority was always under attack. She’d done everything she could to dispel them, convincing Savos to send the child away was her last hope.

“Yes, I know Mirabelle, you’ve said it thousands of times and the answer is still no. I will not send my julikal away, end of discussion. I would advise you to not mention it again,” Savos snapped, glaring at her.

“She isn’t your daughter, Savos, she’s a useless brat that someone left on the beach to die, probably some tavern wench’s throwaway that you’ve kept alive all these years,” Mirabelle fumed. 

Savos extended his arm and before Mirabelle could move, the back of his hand connected with her cheek, sending her sprawling onto the floor. Her mouth tasted of blood where she’d bitten the inside of her cheek and more blood dripped from a split in her lip. Still hiding under the stairway, Aricette jumped at the sound, clasping her hands over her mouth to stay undetected.

“Do not speak of her that way to me again, Mirabelle, or I swear to the Divines I will make you regret it. She is my daughter, I won’t abandon her and I will defend her against anything that should wish her harm, including you,” he snarled. Seething, he turned toward the fireplace, muttering curses.

“Fine, have it your way, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when someone takes your love for the girl as weakness and destroys you,” she growled, wiping blood from her lip with her sleeve and standing up.

“I am sorry you think caring about someone other than yourself is a weakness,” Savos snapped.

“I don’t think it's a weakness, I think it’s a mistake, and it’s selfish and it puts us all at risk. What part of that do you not understand?” she shot back. Savos turned toward her, his red eyes furious, his body tense and ready to rip her apart as he clenched his teeth.

“The part where you’re still talking,” he said through gritted teeth. Savos turned back to the fireplace, dismissing her. 

“I’ve abandoned people before, I will not do it again,” he muttered as Mirabelle collected her composure and stalked out of the room, right past where Aricette’s hiding spot. The door slammed behind Mirabelle as Aricette stepped out of her hiding spot.

Her Ata was standing in front of the fireplace as she approached him. Aricette could feel the anger rolling off him in waves, and she wondered if she’d been the cause. She knew Mirabelle didn’t like her, but she didn’t understand what she’d done wrong. 

“Ata,” she whispered, her earlier excitement replaced by a knot in her stomach. Savos turned around, his glare softening as almond-shaped blue eyes stared back at him, filled with terror.

“Yes, muhrjul,” he said, holding his arms out to her. She ran to him, her arms circling his neck, and he smiled, hugging her back.

“I’m sorry, Ata,” she murmured into his robes. He clasped her tiny wrists in his, unwrapping them from his neck and holding her to face him. Aricette stared at the floor, sniffling.

“What are you sorry for, julikal?” he asked, cupping her chin in his hand and lifting her face to look at him.

“I-I came to see you and I heard Mirabelle in here and I got scared so I hid in the stairwell until she left. Please don’t be angry with me,” she cried, her eyes filling with tears as Savos hugged her again.

“I’m not angry with you child,” he whispered into her hair, pulling her out of the embrace to look at him again. 

“Is what Mirabelle said true?” Aricette asked, still sniffling. Her nose was running, so she wiped it away with the sleeve of her robes as Savos let out a frustrated sigh. Damn that woman to Oblivion. 

“Some of it, yes,” he replied, and she nodded as tears filled her eyes. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders.

“I’m ready to go,” she said, and Savos’ brow furrowed.

“Go where?” he said. 

“Mirabelle said you have to send me away because you’re not safe if I’m here. I’m ready to go. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Ata,” she replied, her lip quivering, but she refused to show fear. Her Ata protected her; it was the least she could do to repay him.

“My dear sweet julikal, I’m not sending you away. And as for Mirabelle, well, she talks too much,” Savos responded, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, and Aricette relaxed, beaming at him.

“So, why were you looking for me?” he said as her eyes lit up and her excitement returned.

“I wanted to show you this,” she said, taking three decent sized steps backward and cupping her palms like Creelis showed her. She produced a small magelight and grinned at him.

“Very good, muhrjul. Very good indeed,” Savos said, beaming at her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aricette meets Kaidan as a young boy.

**_Eight years later - Aricette age 13_ **

Aricette stomped across the snowy courtyard, her auburn curls bouncing with each angry step. Her tongue hurt where she’d bitten it as Mirabelle berated her for the millionth time as she tried and failed to cast an illusion spell. She’d never understood why the woman hated her so much, but Aricette refused to let her see how much Mirabelle’s constant rejection hurt. 

“I can’t cast illusion spells because I don’t want to. The old witch can’t cast them either,” she muttered, pulling the creaking gates open and stomping across the bridge, her cloak flapping around her legs in the wind. The night sky was clear and as she tilted her face to the sky, she could see Masser making its nightly trek across the heavens, Secunda following like a faithful dog. She closed her eyes and sighed, listening to the wind howl and counting in her head as her Ata had taught her. It would upset him, her leaving the college grounds after dark, but she would deal with that later. She had to get away from Mirabelle. 

The guards glanced at Aricette as she left the bridge and stepped onto the snowy road into what remained of the city. She could feel their fear as she passed, like icy fingers wrapping themselves around her heart. Forcing herself to put up a mental wall to block out the overwhelming emotions, she lifted her chin and walked past them. She would walk to the other end of the main road and back. Maybe she’d get back before Ata noticed. 

Aricette tucked her cloak tighter around her and took a deep breath of the frosty air. She’d walked just past the tavern when she heard a whimper to her left, next to the wall of the inn. She turned toward the sound, her curiosity getting the best of her. Overwhelming pain and fear coursed through her as she found the wounded snow fox laying half-dead in the snow. Wolves had attacked it, its white fur matted and splattered with crimson. She let out a cry, putting her hand over her mouth to stifle it. Mirabelle’s treatment of her temporarily forgotten, she sank to her knees, trying not to cry herself as a whine came from the animal. Even with the full moons, shadows bathed the side of the inn. Aricette cast a dim candlelight spell to better see what she needed to do to help.

Kaidan stood, leaning on the front railing of the inn and taking deep breaths. Brynjar had found his way to the bottom of another dozen bottles of ale, and Kaidan could only hope the man hadn’t seen him slip out of the inn. Not that he was doing anything wrong, but Brynjar was paranoid almost to the point of suffocating sometimes. Kaidan walked down the stairs toward the end of town and noticed a flickering light in the shadows next to the inn. What in Oblivion was that? He blinked twice, thinking it was a trick of the night or his own eyes, but it remained and he stepped closer, trying to get a better look. 

The girl knelt on the ground, facing away from him, her hair falling in dark curls to her waist. In the dim light, Kaidan couldn’t tell what color it was. He took a step forward, his foot cracking a twig beneath it. Closing his eyes and cursing himself, he hoped that she hadn’t heard him. Golden light surrounded both her and the fox she was trying to save, and he decided that she hadn’t. The girl finished healing the animal, and it stood on shaking legs and ran away. She cast candlelight and a brilliant ball of light floated above her head, revealing her the color of her hair to be auburn. Kaidan swallowed, thinking she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. 

Aricette turned to go back to the road and jumped as her candlelight revealed a boy, only about sixteen winters, staring at her. She stifled a scream as he raised his hands in a gesture meant to assure her he meant no harm. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you. What are you doing out here?” Kaidan asked, the girl’s candlelight glinted off his eyes.

“I-I was out for a walk and I heard the fox’s cries. I had to help,” she said, staring at the boy.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Aricette, of the College of Winterhold. What’s yours?” she replied.

“Kaidan. You seem a little young to be a mage,” he said. His voice wasn’t mocking, but his words brought back the earlier events of the evening and a fresh wave of irritation washed over her. 

“Oh, really? Is that so?” she said, snapping her fingers to disappear and reappear behind him. It was one of the Alteration spells Creelis had taught her before he’d graduated and went home to High Rock to marry a noble girl three years before. The thought of him usually made her sad, but right now she was smiling, both at his memory and at the look of shock on Kaidan’s face as he turned to see where she’d gone. Aricette’s curiosity piqued as she studied his face in the magical light. He didn’t look like any Nord Aricette had ever seen, not that she had seen many, and his eyes were the same color as her hair. She’d definitely seen nothing like them before, but before Kaidan could say anything, feelings of anger and sadness overtook Aricette and she struggled to breathe as a drunken voice called out of the darkness.

“Where are you, boy? I know you came out here. You better get back here before I get angry,” Brynjar threatened. Aricette extinguished her candlelight to hide herself in the shadows as Kaidan sighed and looked past her to the road. 

“I have to go,” Kaidan said, and Aricette could feel his sadness. Reaching out her hand, she touched him as he passed, murmuring a spell of protection to ease his pain as he turned back to her.

“Take care of yourself,” he said as he walked away, knowing he’d never see her again. They’d be on the move again tomorrow because they never stayed multiple nights in a row anywhere and Brynjar already had whatever it was he’d come to Winterhold for. Aricette waved at him when he glanced back toward her, trying to get another glimpse of her in the darkness, but he couldn’t see her.

“Stay safe, sweet boy. I hope you find some peace,” she whispered, sending the prayer into Aetherius and hoping the Divines would grant it to him. Aricette waited a few minutes after he had disappeared around the front of the inn before she stepped back onto the road and went home. 

The heavy doors of the Arch-Mage living quarters slammed closed behind her, and she froze in the middle of the stairs when she heard her Ata’s voice. 

“Ari, is that you? Come here now,” Savos said, his voice firm but even. Aricette approached him, her head bowed and her curls falling over her face.    
“Y-Yes, Ata?” she said, feeling his anger simmering under the surface. 

“Why did you leave the college grounds after dark? We’ve talked about this,” Savos asked, frowning at her.

“I know Ata, and I’m sorry. But Mirabelle--,” she said lifting her head to look at him.

“Mirabelle what?” he demanded, cutting her off. What had she done now? The woman might be a master wizard, but she was not a people person.

“Nothing Ata, I just had to get away from her. She’s so angry, and it’s overwhelming,” Aricette said, lowering her head again. Savos’ gaze softened at her words; even he knew how Mirabelle could be, but for someone like Aricette, he knew the poor girl felt like she might drown in the negative emotions. 

“Julikal, you must learn to block it out. If you don’t, everyone else’s emotions will drown out your own and you will lose sight of who you are. You don’t want that to happen, do you?” Savos asked, watching his daughter. The flickering firelight sent light and shadow down the strands of her auburn curls, giving them the look of flames. He remembered the day all those years ago when he brought Aricette back to the college. The tiny, half-frozen baby had grown into the child standing before him and he wondered what the Divines had in store for her. 

“No, Ata,” she replied, jerking him out of his thoughts. “I healed a fox while I was out, though.” And met a boy; but she thought it best to not mention that.

“That’s wonderful, muhrjul. I’m glad to see your restoration magic coming along. What about the other schools?” he asked, only half-listening. To him, discussing her schooling was unnecessary because she excelled at almost everything. Her only struggle was illusion magic, and he already knew why. Users of illusion magic went a little insane, and she didn’t want to risk it. Being as empathic as she is, insanity would be worse than a death sentence. 

“I’m still struggling with illusion spells and I made Mirabelle angry, but she keeps trying to get me to cast them,” Aricette said. 

“I see,” Savos replied, shaking his head. That woman had been trying his patience about Aricette since the day he’d found her. Thirteen years was long enough to hold a grudge; it was time to end it once and for all. a

“Ata?” Aricette said, her brows furrowing with concern. Savos realized he had balled up his fists, and he extended his fingers, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension.

“It’s fine, Ari, everything is fine,” Savos said, turning and walking away from her, and Aricette cocked an eyebrow, her blue eyes boring into his back, but she said nothing. When the door to their quarters slammed, Aricette gasped, startled. It didn’t take someone like her to know full well everything wasn’t fine, but what could she do? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaidan belongs to LivTempleton.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short, but it wraps up Aricette's backstory. Part 2 of the series will detail what happens after she leaves the college.

**_1 Last Seed, 4e 201 Aricette - age 20_ **

“Absolutely not. You’re not going.” Savos said, glaring and crumpling the missive and throwing it across the room. 

“Why not? They call for help, and I can help. I’m the only one who can and you know it, Ata,” Aricette said, her blue eyes glinting with a steely resolve.

“It’s too dangerous,” Savos replied. It was a feeble excuse and he knew it, Aricette could take care of herself, magically anyway. “You know magic, julikal, but you do not understand the world or the way it works. You have no part in this war and if they catch you traveling with the rebels, they will execute you. Do you understand that?” 

“So what do you propose, hiding behind the college walls forever?” Aricette snapped. Savos turned to her, glaring. While she may have gotten better with her mental wards against other people’s emotions, she could never handle her Ata looking at her with disappointment as he seemed to do now. She lowered her eyes, avoiding his gaze.

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. You stay here where it’s safe and teach apprentices what you know. Maybe even replace Mirabelle as Master Wizard. It’s no secret you are more adept than she at most spells,” he said, and Aricette snorted and rolled her eyes.

“No, Ata. I want to explore, to travel and maybe someday settle down and have my family. I can’t do any of those things if I never leave this place,” she said. Savos knew she was right, but that didn’t mean he thought this was the best time to do it. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Ari. All of your travel will come to a sudden end if you’re executed for treason,” he said.

“I know, Ata, but I’ve spent years in the Arcaneum reading about the world. I want—no, I need to go experience it, no matter how short of an experience it might be. You don’t know what the Divines have in store for me, and neither do I, but I know if I stay here where it’s safe, I will never learn. I already don’t know who left me on the seashore or why. I won’t find those answers here either,” she said. Her lip trembled and she bit it as tears filled her eyes.

“Oh, muhrjul, I don’t know that you will ever find those answers,” Savos whispered, his gaze softening. Aricette closed her eyes and looked away, willing herself not to cry.

“I know, Ata, but I have to find my place in the world, and that means I have to risk something. Please try to understand,” Aricette said.

“I understand, julikal,” Savos replied. “All too well.”

**_2 Last Seed, 4e 201_ **

Aricette finished squeezing the last of her belongings in her pack and glanced around the living quarters she shared with Savos. Tears filled her eyes as she drifted around the room, her hands trailing along the furniture of the seating area. It was these rooms where she’d grown up, protected and loved, where she was  _ home. _ The prospect of never seeing it or her Ata again tugged at her core and threatened her resolve. Savos was right, she could stay here and challenge Mirabelle for the position of Master Wizard and Aricette knew she’d succeed. She just didn’t  _ wish  _ to. Mirabelle had become less frosty to her over the years, Aricette knew that it was only because of Ata, but it was better than the constant insults and hostility she endured most of her life. Challenging her for Master Wizard and taking away Mirabelle’s purpose at the college would do more harm than good, and even though the woman infuriated Aricette, she saw no reason to make her suffer. Aricette sighed, threw her bag over her shoulder, and found her cloak draped over a chair. She picked it up, took one last glance around the room and headed down the stairs and outside. 

It was a cloudless day; the sunlight radiating from the stone walls of the college. Savos stood in the courtyard next to the statue of Gauldur, waiting for her. Aricette smiled and went to embrace him when he held out his arms to her. They stood that way for a long time, before he kissed the side of her head and took a step back, looking her over.

“I love you, julikal. Stay safe,” Savos whispered, his voice thick. Aricette swallowed hard, nodding, and kissed his cheek.

“I love you too, Ata,” she said, a tear escaping down her cheek and Savos wiped it away. 

“Go now, before the carriage leaves,” he said. 

Aricette nodded and walked away from him, throwing her cloak around her shoulders and using a telekinesis spell to open the gates. She stopped, turning back to him and waving goodbye. He returned it, watching as she turned and made her way across the bridge. He watched after her until her auburn curls were no longer visible. The courtyard was empty now, and he stood in silence for a long time, staring at the statue, unable to shake the feeling he’d never see her alive again.

Aricette stepped off the bridge, noticing the guard’s nervous glance at her. She smiled at him, and he seemed to relax a little. She followed the major road to the other side of town, taking in the tiny village as she went. Even though she’d spent most of her time at the college, Winterhold was home to her, and a twinge of sadness went through her when she thought of how long it might be before she returned. She pushed the thought away and kept putting one foot in front of the other until she reached the waiting carriage.

“Where do you want to go?” the driver said, looking down at her from his seat and pulling his cloak tighter around him.

“How much to go to Windhelm?” she asked. 

“Twenty septims,” he said, as Aricette handed him the coins. He counted them and nodded toward the carriage.

“Climb in back and we’ll be off,” he said. She did as the driver instructed, settling herself against the side of the wagon as it lurched forward and she focused on the college until it faded from view.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Chapters 5 & 6 were uploaded before as part two of the series, but since I deleted that I thought I would add it here in case anyone still wanted to read it

Icy wind bit Aricette’s cheeks as she stepped off the carriage near the Windhelm stables. She scarcely noticed the towering stone walls of the city, busy as she was trying to get across the frozen bridge without falling. She would have used a flame spell to melt the ice, but the guards stationed along the walls were already eyeing her with suspicion. Ignoring them, she hopped over a patch of ice, stopping in front of two gate guards. 

“Halt, outsider. State your business inside the city,” the left guard said, contempt shining in her eyes. 

“The Jarl summoned me to the palace, I am from the College of Winterhold,” Aricette replied, returning the frosty stare.

“Ha! That’s not possible. Our Jarl has no use for magic or anyone who wields it. Begone mage,” the second guard growled. Aricette rolled her eyes, retrieving the crumpled missive from her pack. 

“Apparently, you are mistaken. Your Jarl needs a restoration mage to travel with his troops,” she said, holding up the parchment as the guards stared at it, mouths gaping. The first guard continued to glare at her as the second opened the gates. Aricette nodded once and walked through them, holding her chin high.

As the gates slammed behind her, she could hear raised voices off to her right and she walked toward them, hoping to get directions to the palace. As she drew closer, she heard two men hurling insults at a Dunmer woman and accusing her of being an Imperial spy. Aricette’s mental ward faltered and mixed feelings of hate and fear threatened to overwhelm her. She pushed past the feelings, casting a calm spell on the angry men. Knowing it wouldn’t last long, she plastered on a saccharine smile and asked her questions.

“Good afternoon, could you tell me which direction the palace is in? I believe this woman has had enough of your harassment. Don’t you have anything else to do?” she questioned as they looked at her with awe. The Dunmer woman forgotten for the moment; they scrambled to point her toward the palace. Aricette thanked them, still wearing the sweet smile as they wandered off to harass someone else as she turned her attention to the Dunmer woman who blinked at her, red eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Do you hate the dark elves? Are you here to bully us and tell us to leave?” she spat. 

“No, I don’t hate your people,” Aricette replied, shaking her head. 

“Hmph, then you are too good for the likes of this city. It will chew you up if you let it,” the Dunmer replied.

“It sounded like those guys were giving you trouble,” Aricette said, pulling her cloak tighter around her as she shivered.

“Nothing new there. They like to get drunk and walk around the Gray Quarter yelling insults at us in the wee hours of the morning,” she replied.

“That’s terrible,” Aricette said, frowning and shaking her head. She made a mental note to go to the Gray Quarter, wherever it was, before she left the city. She tilted her head in goodbye as the Dunmer woman took her leave, disappearing into a narrow alley. Lunara turned in the direction the men had pointed her in and headed for the palace. The guards stationed outside the door gathered around a brazier, warming their hands and staring at her as she walked by. Relief flooded through her as they let her pass without questions. She pushed open the heavy doors and stepped through, almost jumping out of her skin when the iron doors slammed shut behind her and the sound echoed off the cold stone walls. Gazing around the room, she saw the Jarl’s throne at the other end of the long hallway and made her way toward it.

Ulfric glanced up from the supply request he was reading as the palace door opened, allowing in a blast of frigid air. The door slammed, and he could sense the magic in the air. It reminded him of the static of a lightning storm before the rain, and other things he didn’t care to remember. His green eyes narrowed, watching as the cloaked woman approached him. She didn’t appear to be a threat, but he couldn’t be certain.

“Only the very foolish or very courageous approach a Jarl without summons, which are you?” he asked, his rich baritone voice stopping Aricette in her tracks. She pushed back her hood, her auburn curls tumbling out of their makeshift cage, and stared at him for a moment without speaking. He stared back at her, waiting for a response as she cleared her throat to speak.

“You sent a summons, my lord, to the College of Winterhold. I am answering it,” she said, folding the page between her fingers, her head bowed. 

“I see. Approach, and show me this summons,” he commanded, and she did as he bid, holding out the parchment with a slight shake of her hand. Ulfric took it, skimming the words, his eyes resting on his signature at the bottom. He folded the missive, handing it back to her, and sighed. 

“You are but a child. I requested the Arch-Mage send someone more—experienced,” he said, and annoyance washed over her. She bit her tongue, just as she had done each time Mirabelle had insulted her skill, and gritted her teeth. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she blew it out before responding.

“I’ve been studying at the college since I was a child. Arch-Mage Savos Aren is my adopted father. I am more than capable of performing any magical task you need, however my strengths lie in schools other than Illusion. I can cast those spells, but I do not wish to, which makes them ineffective most times,” she said as he choked, then coughed. What had she said?

Ulfric fought to get his coughing fit under control. He had heard rumors that the Arch-Mage had a daughter, but he had not expected it to be the Breton woman standing before him, staring at him, her sea-blue colored eyes glinting with annoyance at his insult. He sighed, trying to find the words to calm her. For reasons he couldn’t put into words, her staring at him that way unnerved him. It was as though she could see through to his soul and found him wanting. Divines knew if she was as good with magic as she claimed, that might be exactly what she was doing. 

“My apologies, Miss--” he started.

“Aricette,” she replied. “Aricette Ashcroft.”

“Aricette,” he continued, “I meant no insult, but you must forgive me if I don’t take your word on your experience. Would you mind giving me a demonstration of your skills?” 

“What would you like me to demonstrate? Restoration, Destruction, Alteration, Conjuration, or Illusion?” she asked, tilting her head, her eyes not leaving his. 

“Hmm, I think your primary use will be Restoration, but I’d like to see you cast a spell from each school, in succession without breaks or potions. I want to see your magical stamina. Having the ability to cast one spell is one thing, being able to keep going after doing so is something else entirely,” he said, his eyes intent on her. He knew little about magic, other than mages often had to switch between magic and weapons, because their magicka was not infinite. Aricette straightened her shoulders and accepted his terms with a nod.

“Very well, but I’ll need a few things set up beforehand if you do not wish me to stop casting between spells. I’ll start with healing, because that requires someone to bleed, moving on to destruction in which I’ll need more logs in the fireplace. I will teleport, conjure a familiar, and muffle someone. Is there anything else you’d like to see?” she gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and he ran his fingers across his mouth, thinking. She didn’t seem nervous at all, which he found refreshing, but most mages were overly confident in their abilities.

“That is acceptable,” he said, waving at his second in command, who had been leaning in a doorway near the throne and listening to their conversation. “Galmar, use your axe to cut my arm, and cut it deep. If I bleed to death, arrest her for killing me,” he said.

“Stack wood in the fireplace in the far wall,” he commanded as the guards scurried to do his bidding.

“Are you sure about this?” Galmar asked, incredulous.

“Aye, either she is as good as she claims, or she dies. There’s no in between,” he replied, looking at Aricette, who was scowling at him. “Are you ready to begin?” Aricette nodded, pooling magicka in her hands. 

Galmar pressed the sharp edge of his axe against Ulfric’s arm, slicing almost to the bone. Ulfric grunted, pain registering in his eyes, as blood gushed from the wound. Aricette stepped forward without a word, casting her healing spell. Within a few seconds, the wound disappeared like it had never been there. Aricette’s eyes met Ulfric’s for a moment, his look of surprise causing a slight smile to curve her lips. With a snap of her fingers, Aricette disappeared, reappearing near the fireplace at the other end of the room. Flames engulfed the logs as she cast a fireball into the hearth. She turned, conjured a flame atronach, then snapped her fingers again to stand before the throne as it floated across the room to her. Galmar opened his mouth to speak and with a flick of her wrist, she’d cast a muffle spell on him and stepped into a deep curtsy, her demonstration complete.

She glanced around, noticing the looks of shock and awe from the guards. Galmar was still moving his lips, silent words forming, and she flicked her wrist in his direction, dispelling the muffle spell. Ulfric watched her, his expression impassive. His eyes, however, were anything but and Aricette saw the mixture of astonishment, fear, and interest in them. 

“Very well, you’ll do nicely for what I have planned. Jorleif, show her to the guest chambers and see to it she is to be treated with respect,” he said, waving at his steward. Jorleif approached her, eyeing the spinning flame atronach.

“Sorry,” Aricette said, banishing the flaming creature as an audible sigh of relief escaped Jorleif’s lips.

“My lord, do you think allowing her to stay in the guest chambers is the best idea?” Galmar said, eyeing her. Even through her mental wards, she could feel Galmar’s disgust for her and glared at him. He reminded her too much of Mirabelle and it annoyed her. Ulfric scoffed, staring at his friend and general. 

“What do you suggest I do? Have her sleep in the stables with the horses? That simply won’t do, Galmar, she is my guest,” Ulfric scolded, as Galmar scowled at him, thinking indeed the stables would be better. Ulfric turned to face Aricette. “Go, get some rest, you are free to come and go from the palace as you wish. We will leave for Darkwater Crossing in one week’s time. You may go.” Aricette turned as Ulfric dismissed her and Jorleif addressed her. 

“Right this way Miss,” he said, leading the way out of the main hall.

After the room had cleared, Ulfric spoke to Galmar. “Have you ever seen such a display of magic? I only issued her that challenge because I thought she’d back down, proving she didn’t have the ability she claimed,” he said, shaking his head with disbelief.

“You could have been killed,” Galmar hissed, staring at the doors Aricette had disappeared through.

“Perhaps, but she rose to the challenge. I’m very impressed with her skill.” Ulfric said. “I think we should add a regiment of battlemages to our army. She could train them,” he said. Galmar’s eyes went wide as he sputtered in indignation.

“You can’t be serious!” he said as Ulfric turned his gaze on Galmar.

“And why not?” Ulfric demanded, his voice low and even. “Do you not remember the Imperial battlemages during the Great War? They slashed through full regiments of the opposition with few casualties to themselves. General Tullius uses them now and each time our troops come up against them, our men are woefully unprepared. It is a weak point in our strategy and an undeniable one.” Galmar scoffed, although silently acknowledging Ulfric’s observation. 

“That may be my lord, but that  _ woman  _ knows nothing about war or training an army. She’s probably never left the college grounds before now,” Galmar said. “Besides, she doesn’t seem to care about our cause, and why should she? The Arch-Mage ignores everything going on outside of the college walls.” 

“Well then, I guess we should ask her,” Ulfric said, his eyes glinting as the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. At least it would give him a reason to talk to her again before they left, under the guise of preparation. Galmar shook his head, scowling, and walked back to the war room. His friend was getting distracted and it would end up costing everyone close to him something. 

Aricette followed Jorleif through a maze of corridors as he showed her to the guest chambers. The guard eyed her with suspicion as he held the door open, and she entered the room. It was a decent-sized room, with modest decor. A large fireplace took up most of one wall, and the servants had stoked it to warm the room before her arrival. Two chairs faced the fireplace, with a small table between them. Behind them, against the other wall, stood a bed piled with furs. Light filtered in through the stained glass on either side of the bed and a writing desk sat alone in one corner. Next to the door was a long side table and Aricette could only assume the servants used it for food trays. Aricette crossed over to the chairs, unclasping her cloak and laying it across the back of one chair and dropping her bag to the floor. 

“I trust you’ll find this acceptable, Miss,” Jorleif said, watching her.

“It’s more than acceptable, please give the Jarl my gratitude,” Aricette replied, smiling at him. Jorleif tilted his head, turning and exiting the room, closing the door behind him.

  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Aricette stood alone in the room, gazing at the fire, lost in thought. She crossed the room and opened the door to leave and ran into a maid carrying a tray of food. The tray tumbled out of the maid’s hands, food and bottles flying. Aricette waved her hand, mumbling something only she could hear, as swirls of light surrounded the flying items and the tray landed on the floor with its contents in an organized heap on top. The girl looked at Aricette with terror-filled green eyes as she bent to pick up the tray. 

“My apologies, my lady,” the girl whispered, her head bowed as if bracing herself for someone to strike her. 

“It’s alright. It was totally my fault,” Aricette replied, waving her hand. “Besides, nothing spilled or broke, so everything is fine.” The girl didn’t relax as she placed the tray on the table near the door. Aricette thought it odd, but said nothing as the maid curtsied and hurried from the room. The smell of the vegetable stew and fresh bread made Aricette’s stomach growl, and she devoured the food. 

When she finished, she placed the dishes back on the tray and pulling on her cloak, opened the door to leave. The guard standing just outside her door eyed her with suspicion but said nothing as she passed him, trying to decide which way to go down the long hallway.

“Which way to the main hall?” She asked. The guard grunted and pointed to the left and Aricette nodded, lifting her chin and walking in the direction he sent her. After several tries, she found the door leading into the main hall. It was empty, but she could hear angry voices coming from a room off to the side and she recognized one of them to be Ulfric’s. Deciding it was best not to get caught eavesdropping, she slipped out the palace doors and into the frigid air.

She pulled her hood over her hair and walked past the guards huddled in front of the palace brazier. Ignoring them, she descended the steps and walked toward the front gates, determined to find the alley the Dunmer woman had disappeared into. Following her steps, it didn’t take her long to find the area of the city the woman had referred to as the Gray Quarter, an area that looked as though it didn’t belong with the rest of Windhelm. The city was old, and she saw many crumbling buildings outside the Gray Quarter, but this area was by far the worst of it. Her heart broke to see the conditions the Dunmer of the city lived in. How could the Jarl allow his people to suffer so? 

She wandered along the darkening streets, feeling such intense sadness she thought her heart would break right there. Stifling a cry, she turned to go back to the palace and ran into the broad chest of a Windhelm guard. 

“E-Excuse me,” she said, moving around him. He grabbed her arm to stop her from passing; his fingers digging into her flesh, sending stabs of pain into her shoulder and a slight cry escaped her lips as he jerked her around to face him. 

“Where do you think you’re goin?” he slurred. Aricette wrinkled her nose in disgust and glared at him. The man still wore his guard uniform, reeking of old ale, and she fought the urge to gag.

“I’m going back to the palace. I am the Jarl’s guest,” she replied, not taking her eyes off him.

“Aye, and I’m the bloody emperor,” he said, laughing as though it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard and gripping her arm tighter as she struggled to break free of his grasp.

“I don’t think so,” he said, twisting her arm behind her back and slamming her against the wall. She screamed from both pain and rage, and he clamped his hand down on her mouth to quiet her. Her eyes teared up from the pain of her twisted arm, and she bit down as hard as she could on the fingers pressing into her mouth. The guard roared in pain and removed his hand. He let go of her arm, and she spun around to face him, magicka pooling in her hands.

“You’ll pay for that with your head, you little bitch,” the guard growled as he wrapped his fingers around her throat and squeezed, pressing her back into the wall. She raised her hands to cast a paralysis spell before she fell unconscious, then heard a voice behind the guard. He froze, loosening his grip on her neck. 

“Unhand her. Now,” Ulfric said, his baritone voice a low growl that echoed off the stone walls, making Aricette shiver. She could feel the anger simmering under the even timbre of his voice. The guard turned around and Aricette could see Ulfric standing in front of the guards she had passed as she was leaving the palace. Shadows from the street lamps flickered and she could see the coldness in his green eyes as he regarded her attacker.

“I-I’m sorry, my Jarl. I didn’t know who she was,” he stammered as Ulfric’s face twisted into a scowl. He stepped toward the guard, his face inches away.

“Is that supposed to make it alright? It doesn’t matter who she is, you should have left her alone,” Ulfric growled, poking the guard in the chest, then stepped back and waved his hand.

“Arrest him,” he said, then looked to Aricette as the guards led her attacker toward the dungeons. “Are you alright?”

“I-I think so,” she replied in a hoarse voice, rubbing her neck where her attacker’s fingers had been. Ulfric regarded her, the earlier coldness gone from his eyes, replaced by a look of wary interest. “Why are you out here, my lord? Please don’t misunderstand, I appreciate you stopping him. I just didn’t think Jarls left their palaces,” she said, her voice trailing off, her eyes dropping to the ground. After a brief silence, he spoke again.

“I could ask the same of you,” Ulfric said, a hint of a smile in his voice as she looked up at him, pulling her cloak tighter and shivering. “Come, let’s go back to the palace, shall we?” He held out his arm to her, and she took it, blushing. They walked in silence for a while, their breath coming in small puffs in the night air. 

“I’m surprised you showed restraint when you were being attacked,” Ulfric said, casting a sideways glance in her direction. She frowned, trying to form a response, then shrugged.

“He was a drunken, narrow-minded twit. I decided he wasn’t worth getting jailed or executed for. Make no mistake, he was about to get zapped with a paralysis spell when you showed up, but even though I could have easily killed him with my magic, my Ata taught me more restraint than that. He always said that just because our magic is powerful, it was no reason to antagonize those who do not understand it, or us,” she said, keeping her eyes on the street in front of her. Ulfric glanced at her, unsure of what to make of what she’d said, or her for that matter. He’d always had a distrust for magic, even before being captured by the Thalmor, but it impressed him that the Arch-Mage would teach his students such restraint. Lost in his thoughts, he jerked back to the present when she spoke again.

“Have I offended you, my lord?” she asked, not looking at him. Aricette wasn’t sure if she cared that she had, other than not wanting to pay for her mistake with her head, but she waited politely for his answer as they reached the steps to the palace.

“No, I am not offended. I find your honesty—refreshing. Too many people only say what they think I want to hear, or they only say things to further their own ends. You’re not like that, why?” he said, turning to face her. The flickering flame of the brazier cast shadows on her face as her brows knit together in confusion. 

“I don’t understand,” she replied, and he let out a light chuckle. “What is so funny?”

“Nothing,” Ulfric replied, a slight smile still playing at the corners of his lips. He was laughing at her! She growled in frustration and turned on her heel, disappearing through the palace doors. He shook his head, following her.

The hall was empty as the palace doors slammed behind him, and for a moment Ulfric debated whether to follow her, deciding it better if he didn’t. He hadn’t meant to laugh  _ at _ her, but he could understand why she’d think so. He wandered into the war room, frowning as Galmar leaned on the table, scowling at him as he crossed the room. 

“Where have you been?” he demanded. Ulfric regarded him with a cool expression, but said nothing. 

“That’s none of your concern,” Ulfric replied coolly and Galmar snorted and left the room, muttering about distractions. Ulfric sighed, picking up a bottle of mead and downing half of it in one drink. 

Aricette flopped down on the chair in front of the fireplace and ran her hands down her face. She felt the scratches on her cheek from the rough stone wall and cast a healing spell on them. Her fingers went to her neck, and she couldn’t decide whether to heal the bruises that were forming there. She let her hand drop when there was a knock on the door and it swung open.

Assuming it was the maid, Aricette stood up in greeting, but stayed out of the way. Her eyes widened when she saw Ulfric standing in the doorway, and she tilted her head in greeting as he entered.

“Yes, my lord? Do you need something?” she asked. He looked uncomfortable, almost like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or go, and Aricette studied him in the awkward silence. He was tall, with straw-colored hair that fell in waves to his shoulders. Aricette guessed him to be in his forties, with deepening lines around his green eyes and a straight nose. His mouth set in a grim line, and Aricette wondered if the man ever smiled. She felt a flush of irritation when she remembered that he had smiled earlier, at her expense. She looked away, staring at the fire, and he closed the door behind him before he spoke.

“I apologize,” he said. Aricette felt the low rumble of thunder as the sound bounced off the stone walls and it made her shiver. Rubbing her arms, she forced herself to look at him and wear what she hoped was a neutral expression. 

“I would assume that a man in your position doesn’t have to apologize to anyone,” she retorted. Her voice held more irritation than she intended and annoyance flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t respond to the jab. Instead, he motioned to the chairs.

“Can we please sit?” he said, and she nodded, sinking into the chair behind her. He sat in the chair next to him, and the spicy scent of cinnamon wafted through the air. She waited, twisting her fingers in her lap.

“As I said, I apologize. I didn’t intend for you to think I was laughing at you. I wasn’t, I swear it,” he said, staring at the fire and fidgeting with the Amulet of Talos he always wore. “It was only that--.” he paused, trying to decide what to say next. Aricette could feel the sadness and guilt that surrounded him and she forced herself to ignore them. It wasn’t her business. He sighed, took a deep breath, then continued.

“I’ve become used to reading between the lines of anything someone says to me. I dissect it, pick it apart, examining it from every possible angle,” he said.

“How exhausting,” she whispered, clapping her hands over her mouth, and lowered her gaze to her hands. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “I’m sorry, please, continue.” 

“It’s intriguing and a little amusing to me that you don’t seem to care about the things most women seem to, and you don’t mince words,” he said in a low voice. Aricette huffed, feeling his eyes on her, but stared at the fire instead of looking in his direction and swallowed.

“You mean trying to find a husband? Are you volunteering?” she snapped and he let out a small laugh, shaking his head. 

“Well, yes that. And no, I wasn’t volunteering,” he replied. He saw a flash of hurt in her eyes, but thought it was a trick of the light, or his imagination.

“I didn’t think so. I have just never really thought about it. I grew up at the College of Winterhold and it’s not like there are men lining up in the streets to court the adopted daughter of the Arch-Mage. It’s not even the general distrust of magic, it’s the fact that I’m not a Nord and even worse, a Dunmer raised me. Oh, and well, that whole pesky killing them with magic thing,” Aricette said, hoping her words wouldn’t be mistaken as sarcasm.

“I see,” Ulfric said, as a terse silence fell between them. Lunara sighed, turning her gaze toward him.

“I mean no disrespect, my lord, but is that the only reason you came here tonight?” she asked. His eyes bored into hers, and she thought she saw humor there.

“Actually, no. I’m thinking about changing my battle tactics, and I have something I wish to discuss with you,” he replied.

“Oh, what is it?” She asked, wondering what in Oblivion he wanted to ask her about anything military related. He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Do you know anything about military strategy?” he asked.

“Only what I’ve read. The Arcaneum has the largest library in Skyrim and from the time I learned to read I spent all my free time there,” she said, looking at him with interest. 

“Well, I don’t know how much you know about me, but I served in the Legion in the Great War. There were regiments of battlemages in the Legion, and they could decimate enemy troops easily,” he said. He stared into the fire, drifting into his memories. 

“Yes, I’ve read about them. What does that have to do with me?” she said, shaking her head. 

“I am thinking about adding battlemages to our troops and I need someone who can train them,” he said, his eyes expressionless, like he’d just asked her the time. Aricette smiled, stunned.

“Me? You want me to train battlemages? Have you lost your mind?” she asked, incredulous. Realizing who she was speaking to, she covered her mouth with her hands, her blue eyes the size of saucers. “I’m so sorry,” she breathed. He waved her off, leaning back in the chair.

“It’s fine. Galmar said the same thing,” he said, a smile curved at the edge of his mouth.

“I thought I was just coming here to travel with your troops as a healer. I didn’t know you’d want someone to train battlemages,” she said, playing with the ends of her hair.

“I didn’t either until I saw what you could do. When I asked for that demonstration, I didn’t expect you to agree. Every other mage I have ever asked to do that refused, either because they didn’t know spells from each school of magic, or because they didn’t have enough magicka to cast without stopping,” he said with a dry laugh. Aricette’s cheeks flushed, and she lowered her eyes, not knowing what to say.

“I just think I’d be a liability. I have no actual military experience, just what I’ve read. Can I think about it?” she asked, twisting her fingers in her lap.

“Aye, you can give me your answer when we return from Darkwater Crossing,” he said, rising to leave. She looked up from her lap, swallowing hard.

“We, my lord?” she asked.

“Aye, I will make the journey with my men, that’s why you’re here. Galmar wouldn’t agree to it unless there was someone able to heal me no matter what happened,” he replied.

“No offense, my lord, because I am not a strategist, but isn’t being out with your men a bit—dangerous? I just mean you are the leader of the rebellion. If the Imperials catch you, the rebellion is over when they take your head. It will make you a martyr, but regardless, they will execute you for treason,” she said as he gave her a wry laugh. When she looked confused, he shook his head and explained.

“Are you sure you’re not a strategist? You just sat there and told me word for word what Galmar said when I told him this was happening,” he said as Aricette blushed again. “I’ve taken enough of your time this evening.” He walked to the door and stopped with his hand on the latch when she spoke.

“The pleasure was mine, my lord,” she said to his back. He smiled to himself and opened the door.

“Good night, Aricette,” he said, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind him. 


	7. Chapter 7

_**5 Last Seed, 4e 201** _

Salty, frigid air bit Aricette’s cheeks as she watched the ships navigating the icy water of the channel toward the dock. Her nose was numb and dripping, and she swiped at it with the edge of her cloak. Ever since she found her way to the docks after entering the city, she found herself there during the day, tending to the sick and injured Argonian and Dunmer dock workers, much to the annoyance of the Nord guard patrol.

The Argonian’s and Dunmer’s treatment as refugees in the city appalled her, but she didn’t think speaking to Jarl Ulfric on their behalf would make him listen any more than other pleas of help. Although, after several attempts, Aricette needled the harbormaster into agreeing to pay a few more septims to the workers. It wasn’t much, but they’d been grateful, and Aricette wished she could do more for them. Maybe someday.

Night fell, the stars and auroras obscured by the snow clouds that rolled in, dumping fat, wet flakes of snow everywhere in the city. Aricette pulled her hood up, tucking her bright red curls into it, and ran up the stone steps to push through the massive city gates. She made her way soundlessly through the dark alleys of the Gray Quarter, keeping a lookout for any danger that might be lurking. The guards all knew she was Jarl Ulfric’s guest now, but that didn’t mean they approved, and she’d been subject to all types of harassment every time she left the palace. 

Aricette gave a slight nod to the group of guards standing around the palace’s courtyard brazier, and they nodded in return, no longer greeting her with outright hostility, just a wary indifference. She was fine with indifference, used to it even, and it was always easier on her mental energy than hostility. She entered the palace; the doors banging closed behind her, echoing off the empty walls of the great room. Ulfric sat on his throne, Galmar at his side as always, and they were in a heated discussion over a missive from a troop leader. 

Aricette decided she didn’t want to be part of that conversation and headed for the exit to the living quarters. Ulfric glanced up from his throne as she entered, and he watched her intently as she crossed the room and disappeared through the door leading to the living quarters. He often wondered where she disappeared to during the day, only returning to the palace after nightfall, retreating into the guest chambers. Although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he’d ordered the servants to always have a hot meal waiting in her chambers when she returned. 

“—and as you can see, the planned route is crawling with Imperial soldiers. Ulfric! Are you listening?” Galmar’s voice boomed, echoing off the high ceiling of the room, but Ulfric paid no attention. His thoughts were on the strange redheaded woman living in the guest chamber. “Ulfric!” Galmar shouted, jerking him back to the present. 

He cleared his throat, returning his gaze to the missive before him. “I heard you, Galmar,” he snapped. “The planned route is crawling with Imperial soldiers.” He repeated the words without conviction, his mind elsewhere. He hadn’t been sure that’s what Galmar said, just that it was the obvious problem for all his troop’s movements, so he made an educated guess.

“Well, I can see your mind is clearly elsewhere,” Galmar huffed. Ulfric gazed at him, his face passive in a way that always irritated him, but said nothing. Ulfric was his best friend, and yet, he still sometimes tried to pretend Galmar didn’t know him at all. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow.” He turned, stomping back to the war room, leaving Ulfric alone in the great hall.

Galmar was still muttering to himself when Ulfric entered behind him. Ulfric leaned on the door frame, watching him move about the room, before sighing and crossing to the table in the center of the room. “Sit down, Galmar,” he said, gesturing impatiently to the stool on the other side of the table. Galmar did as he instructed, scowling. “What is on your mind?” 

Galmar stared at him for a few moments, still scowling. “I could ask you the same thing,” he huffed. “Since that woman entered the palace, her presence has distracted you, which is exactly what the enemy wants. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn they’d sent her here for that purpose.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ulfric said in an even tone. “I don’t get that sense about her. She’s young and naïve about the ways of the world, but she’s no Imperial spy.” Galmar snorted, and Ulfric fixed his piercing green gaze on him. “What makes you so sure she is?”

“Do you know where she goes all day?” Galmar retorted. “Why has she left at dawn each morning since she arrived and only returns after nightfall, and only leaves the guest chambers when summoned?” Ulfric said nothing, he’d wondered about the answers to those same questions himself, but hadn’t been worried enough to ask. Although the Imperial army had spies everywhere, they were always spotted while in Windhelm as though they did not try to hide their intentions. He’d dismissed the notion Aricette was a spy after the first day she’d been outside the palace because there were no reports then or since about spies inside the city walls.

“That’s paranoid, even for you, Galmar,” Ulfric said mildly, one corner of his mouth twitching. “The girl clearly isn’t a spy, her appearance is not plain enough. People will remember a girl with hair the color of flames, don’t you think?” Galmar’s scowl softened, considering. Ulfric was right about her appearance, but he still didn’t trust her. She was up to something sinister, she had to be; there was no other explanation to Ulfric’s wandering attention since she’d arrived. 

“Maybe not a spy, but she is a mage who could bewitch us all,” he pointed out. Ulfric closed his eyes, biting his tongue, and trying not to let the wave of irritation flowing through him escape his mouth; especially since Galmar wasn’t completely wrong. If Aricette chose, she could bewitch them all with an illusion spell, but Ulfric sensed she wouldn’t do it, although he wasn’t sure how he knew.

“Alright, Galmar,” Ulfric said, sighing. “Do you want me to summon the girl and question her about her whereabouts all day?” 

“No, _I_ want to question her,” Galmar said, and Ulfric didn’t miss the sinister note in his voice. He opened his mouth to retort, but Jorleif appearing in the doorway interrupted him.

“Excuse me, my lord,” he said, addressing Ulfric. Ulfric raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to continue. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation as I was going to the kitchens and I hope I’m not overstepping, but you don’t have to question the girl. The guards tell me she’s been spending her days at the docks, healing sick and wounded Argonian and Dunmer workers. She even convinced the harbormaster to increase their pay. It’s not enough to cut deeply into any profit he makes, but it’s enough for them.” 

There was a note of awe in Jorleif’s voice as he spoke of Aricette, and Ulfric set his mouth into a grim line to keep Galmar from seeing the slight smile playing on his face. “Thank you, Jorleif. That is much appreciated. You may go,” Ulfric replied. Jorleif bowed his head, then disappeared out of the doorway. 

“See Galmar?” Ulfric said, unable to hide the smile any longer. “Not a spy.” Galmar gaped at him, not believing Ulfric would take his steward’s words of hearsay as proof over allowing him to interrogate her thoroughly until she gave him the answers he wanted. “Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes, “since you don’t want to accept that, I’ll summon her and _I_ will ask her what she’s been doing. You will listen, but you will not speak, understood?”

“Fine,” Galmar pouted, the scowl returning. Ulfric stood, walking back to the throne in the great hall. Galmar followed, seating himself on the steps below the throne and waiting, his foot tapping impatiently on the stone floor. 

“Yrsarald, summon Aricette to the great hall. I wish to speak with her,” Ulfric commanded the guard captain who stood at attention near the war room. 

“As you wish sir,” Yrsarald replied, disappearing to carry out his orders. Silence fell over the empty hall save for Galmar’s incessant tapping, and Ulfric wondered if he’d end up having to restrain the man before Aricette arrived.

He didn’t have time to decide before Aricette stepped into the great hall, following Yrsarald. She looked confused and more than a little afraid, and it bothered him to see her that way more than he cared to admit. Maybe Galmar was right, and she was bewitching them? Aricette approached the throne, head bowed as she tried to keep her mental wards up. The hostility from Galmar pounded against her psyche like a raging storm, and it was all she could do to not break down and run screaming from the room. 

“Good evening, Aricette,” Ulfric said, his tone almost congenial. 

Aricette curtsied slightly, not meeting his gaze. “Good evening, my lord. You wished to see me?”

“I did,” he replied. “It seems there’s been some question of your activities outside the palace, and I want to make sure I understand.” Aricette looked up then, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She couldn’t sense hostility from Ulfric, only Galmar, but that meant nothing. She tilted her head, studying him before replying.

“What questions, my lord? I can assure you that I am not doing anything illegal or immoral,” she said carefully. She technically wasn’t doing anything wrong, especially to those who deemed all life important, but she wasn’t sure Ulfric or his general counted among those people. 

“The palace guards and my general have noticed that you leave from dawn to dusk each day. Where do you go? The city can’t be that interesting, surely,” Ulfric said, his green eyes studying her face as emotions ranging from fear to disgust flashed across it, one after another. No matter what Galmar thought, this woman definitely was not a spy. 

“Well,” Aricette said indignantly, “it speaks volumes if the Jarl himself doesn’t find the city or its people interesting, doesn’t it?” Galmar’s eyes widened, and he stood up from his seat on the steps, towering over Aricette, who regarded him with feigned disinterest. 

“You watch your tongue, bitch, or I will remove it,” he growled. She stared at him, magicka pooling in her hands. 

“Not before I burn you alive,” she growled back, not breaking eye contact. She played a dangerous game and she knew it, but Galmar infuriated her with his hatred and contempt for things he didn’t bother to understand, and she was dangerously close to losing her temper. 

“Enough!” Ulfric roared, glaring down at them both. “Sit down, Galmar. Aricette, explain yourself. Now.” His gaze pierced her like a knife shredded cloth, and she fought the urge to shy away from it, just as she fought the same urge moments before when confronting Galmar. 

“Forgive me, my lord, but you said I was free to come and go from the palace as I wished. Have you changed your mind?” Aricette blinked at him, waiting for an answer. Ulfric leaned back, resting his elbow on the armrest of the throne, and rubbed his chin with his hand. He wasn’t sure how to answer her, and thought about saying he had indeed changed his mind, making up some excuse about her safety, but he had a feeling she’d see right through that, just as she seemed to see right through him. 

“No,” Ulfric said. Galmar growled again, glaring at him. “No,” he repeated more forcefully. “But it would put my general’s mind at ease if you were to tell me where you go all day when you leave the palace. He seems to think you’re an Imperial spy.” Galmar glared at Ulfric, who gave him a wry smile. If it was honesty Galmar wanted, he was certainly about to get it. 

“Not that it’s any of his business, but I go down to the docks during the day and tend the sick and wounded workers and refugees,” she said, pausing for a moment to glare at them, putting her hands on her hips as though she were about to scold a set of wayward children. “And for the record, I find this city’s treatment of its poor and sick utterly reprehensible. You should all be ashamed of yourselves, and—” she stopped, swallowing the last of her words. Her Ata was right, she didn’t understand the way the world worked, but dignity was a basic right that should be granted to everyone, not just those who look a certain way. To her, that was a universal truth, no matter what the situation. 

“Go on,” Ulfric said slowly. He wasn’t sure he would like what she had to say, but one thing that drew him to her was the way she always seemed to speak whatever was on her mind, regardless of whether the person she spoke to was a Jarl or a beggar. As much as it annoyed him, he also found it refreshing. Aricette wasn’t interested in playing the typical games of a courtier trying to wheedle her way into a marriage proposal. On the contrary, he was almost certain becoming a queen was the last thing on her mind, and it also amused him she refused to cower to Galmar’s threats, the likes of which sent most sensible people running in terror.

“No thank you,” she said curtly, lifting her chin in defiance. “I like my head where it is.” Ulfric bit back a laugh as Galmar glared at each of them. 

“You’re just going to let her speak to you this way?” Galmar cried, staring at Ulfric in disbelief. “The insolent wench needs to learn some respect.” He drew a dagger, pressing the blade to the pale flesh of her throat. “I will gladly show her the error of her ways.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Galmar, put that away,” Ulfric said, sitting up straight on the throne, but Galmar ignored him. “Aricette meant no disrespect, did you?”

“No, my lord,” she replied, swallowing hard against the steel pressing against her skin. “I do tend to run off at the mouth when I see things I feel are injustices, and my Ata warned me before I came here to keep my opinions to myself. So I am politely refusing to finish my earlier thoughts,” she said, stepping backward away from Galmar and his blade. “It is your city, and you’ll govern it how you see fit, but—”

“But what?” Ulfric tilted his head slightly as her eyes darted between him and Galmar. She swallowed, taking a deep breath to build her courage before continuing. 

“It’s just that the more you do for your people, the more your people will do for you. Right now, they think you’ve abandoned them because they aren’t Nords, and I don’t claim to know whether that is true. What I know is that there is an entire city out there, Nords and non-Nord alike who feel you’re more interested in your war than you are taking care of your people, and if you ever left this palace, you might know it too.” Aricette lowered her gaze, exhausted from holding up mental wards against Galmar’s emotional onslaught and worried she’d said too much. She just hoped Ulfric sent her back to Winterhold instead of having her executed. 

“I see,” Ulfric said thoughtfully. “And why is it you’ve become their champion, Aricette? Jorleif tells me you convinced the harbormaster to raise the dockworkers pay. Why did you do that? Their pay certainly doesn’t concern you.”

“Because, my lord, I know what it’s like to be lost and abandoned. I also know that people want to help themselves if they have someone willing to fight for them. My Ata fought for me every day I was at the college because children weren’t allowed there, but if he hadn’t, they would have sent me to Honorhall and where no one could teach me how to control my magic. Someone would have gotten hurt or worse, and I wouldn’t be standing before you today.” Aricette bowed her head as silence fell across the great hall. Even Galmar was uncharacteristically silent, which Ulfric found disturbing. He did a discreet double take to see if Aricette had cast a muffle spell on him again, relieved to see she hadn’t. 

“Thank you, Aricette,” he said, sighing. “You may return to your chambers.” He waved in dismissal, and Aricette gave him a quick curtsy and scurried from the hall, her heart pounding in her ears.

“How dare she speak to you in such a manner,” Galmar bellowed, pacing the width of the room clenching and unclenching his fists. “And you allowed it? People will think you’ve gone soft!”

“She said nothing most of the people in this city haven’t thought at least once,” Ulfric pointed out. “It’s not like I’m the most beloved Jarl this city has known. That honor would go to my father, not me.” He sighed, pushing himself off the throne. His bones ached from exhaustion, but he didn’t want to sleep, he wanted to see Aricette.

“That is not the point,” Galmar growled. “You should have let me teach her a lesson in manners.” Ulfric shook his head, heading for the living quarters. 

“You’ll do no such thing, Galmar,” Ulfric commanded. “If I hear you’ve mistreated her or given anyone else orders to do so, you and anyone else will answer to me. Do I make myself clear?” He turned, one hand on the door handle to glower at his general, who was still pacing the room.

“Fine,” Galmar growled. “But she needs to return to the college. You are too distracted to go on this mission and she’s the cause. You will get captured or killed, and you know it.” He stopped pacing, turning to stare at Ulfric, daring him to disagree.

Ulfric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Galmar wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t exactly right either. Sending Aricette back to the college now would do nothing for his distraction. It was something that confused even him, and he needed time to decipher its meaning. “We’ll talk about this in the morning, Galmar. Good evening.” Without giving Galmar a chance to protest, Ulfric disappeared through the door.


End file.
